Long after the used senses abdicate The flickering scene of the mind, Leaving their tangled wires burned black; And after memory, usurper, good to hate Tinkering with what is slack And dead, takes up his bare estate, Keeping all windows blind— Still in the withered fibre of the brain, Lives a bright nerve, a cable freshly fed, The sensitive high-voltage wire of pain, A humming, brutal thread, That signals what worn flesh now reads as clear, As once new fervor, hunger, lust or fear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHAT I'VE BELIEVED IN by JAMES GALVIN TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE FIRST DAY: THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T.C. IN A PROSPECT OF FLOWERS by ANDREW MARVELL SEVERUS TO TIBERIUS GREATLY ENNUYE by JOSEPH AUSLANDER THE INVITATION by JAMES BARCLAY A BRIDGE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |